


Thy Fearful Symmetry

by koanju (verstehen)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:56:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verstehen/pseuds/koanju
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow Stiles had gone to bed last night himself and woke up Peter Hale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thy Fearful Symmetry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1001cranes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001cranes/gifts).



> I'm sorry about the terrible deus ex machina.

“Man, I wish I had awesome werewolf healing powers,” Stiles grumped as Scott signed his cast. The asshole was even drawing a little picture of a werewolf next to his name. Or at least Stiles assumed it was a werewolf; Scott wasn’t the best at drawing. He could only assume based on years of knowing his best friend.

“Easily fixed,” Peter’s voice came from down the hall. Stiles jumped but Scott didn’t which meant the jerk had heard him coming and didn’t warn him. “Take the bite,” he said, coming to a stop next to where Scott and Stiles were sitting in the waiting room for his dad to finish up the paperwork.

“That offer wasn’t very appealing the first time around either,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “But hey I guess it’s a good thing you at least offered rather than ran around rabidly biting anything or anyone in your path.” He shared a quick look with Scott and slouched down into the uncomfortable chair, trying to find a way to sit that didn’t make his broken leg stick out or ache even worse.

“Mr. Stilinski,” a nurse in pale pink scrubs came to stop next to his chair. She gave him a quick smile and touched his shoulder. “We’re almost ready to let you out. You’ll be back to normal soon.”

He grinned at her easily. “Thanks. Hey, are you new?” He’d spent a lot of time at the hospital over the years, between his mom and Scott’s mom. Stiles and Scott both knew all the nursing staff pretty well by now. He noticed Peter giving the woman a strange look, his nostrils flaring and lips turned down like he smelled something bad.

“I started here last week,” she said, offering him her hand. “I’m Jeannie.”

“Nice to meet you, Jeannie.” She nodded at him and turned, bumping into Peter briefly, as she moved away from their little group. “Why are you here, Peter?”

“Just checking in,” he said, holding his hands up in front of his chest. “Isaac mentioned you were hurt.”

“Yeah, but it was a Lacrosse accident, Peter. Nothing you need to worry about.” He glared at the older man and watched Scott’s eyes flare yellow. It hadn’t even been one of the goddamn werewolves that landed Stiles six weeks in a cast. It had been Greenberg and that somehow made everything even more annoying.

“I like you, Stiles,” Peter said, reaching out to touch Stiles’s cheek. When Stiles flinched back, he knelt down and pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket. “I’ll always be watching out for you,” he explained and then actually started to sign Stiles’s cast. Like he had any claim or right. When he was done, Peter straightened and smiled. “I’ll see you both around.”

Stiles leaned over to look at what Peter had done to his cast. The asshole had drawn a much more accurate picture… of Stiles as a wolf. He rolled his eyes. “Let’s get out of here before more weirdoes show up.”

“Like Derek,” Scott added, smirking.

“Yeah. And thanks for the assist there, buddy.” He tousled Scott’s hair in the way his friend absolutely hated and levered himself up onto his crutches to go find his dad.

The rest of the day had gone fairly smoothly, without even the teasing he’d expected at being a Greenberg casualty. Things were good, broken leg aside, so the last thing Stiles was expecting the next day was to wake up in a different bed.

A bed that smelled like ash and mint, was a hell of a lot bigger than Stiles’s twin, and seemed to have silk sheets what the hell. Not to mention there wasn’t a cast on his leg anymore… and it didn’t hurt. At all.

A quick look around the room showed a completely empty bedroom save for the bed and a closet full of slacks and jeans that were actually hung up and a variety of shirts. The bedroom had two doors and the first he checked led to a bathroom.

Stiles frowned and —

_oh shit._

His heart stopped, literally froze for a second, and he realized he could both feel and hear it. This made sense because the face he’d just gotten a glimpse of in the mirror wasn’t his face. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

Somehow he’d gone to bed last night himself and woke up…

Peter Hale.

_What. The. Fuck_. “Werewolves aren’t fair,” he muttered, staring into the mirror at Peter Hale’s naked body. He was slimmer than Derek but Stiles could feel the tension of muscles throughout the body he was wearing. He poked a finger into the lean stomach he was staring at and hissed as he realized the finger came with a claw. Pulling his hand back, he watched the wound heal instantly. Fucked up situation or not he was totally still jealous of werewolf healing. It was like he hadn’t even had a chance to really feel the pain before the wound went away.

He licked his lips and let his gaze drop further because of course Peter would have a goddamn full-length mirror in his bathroom. He let his eyes stare at the cock nestled in brown hair for a little longer than he was probably comfortable with before he gave up and turned away, resisting the urge to touch. At least the werewolf super senses didn’t seem to kick in unless he was startled, like with his heartbeat, or willed it. The last thing he needed right now was to start smelling his — Peter’s — arousal. But, shit, if he had popped claws, then he needed to calm down before anything really bad happened. Get his heart rate down.

“Don’t think about jerking off,” he muttered, which was his usual form of relaxation. Twice a day, at least. Maybe he could look for a razor and clip Peter’s evil goatee. But he licked his — Peter’s — lips again and tried to get the thought of that cock in his hand to relieve stress out of his head.

“Okay.” He said finally, shutting his eyes and backing out of the bathroom. “Clothes. Then ransacking the apartment for useful things. Then calling Scott.”

Stiles spent the next fifteen minutes wandering around the place still naked, mostly because he couldn't find any goddamn underwear. It was a large, empty place with a huge line of windows that, thankfully, had blackout curtains closed around them. When he peaked out, hiding the rest of his naked body behind the curtain, it looked like he was in an apartment near downtown. Probably a hybrid, business downstairs, apartment upstairs. There wasn't much furniture, just the bed, a couch, a huge flat-screen TV, and a kitchen table with two chairs, but everything was comfortable. Especially the couch. He fully admits to spending a good five of those fifteen minutes just curled up on that couch, pressing his face into the cushions. They smelled really good and he didn't have enough experience to tell exactly what they smelled like. The kitchen was pretty much the biggest part of the apartment, aside from the bedroom, and unlike the rest of the place, it was packed with stuff. Stiles, listening to the audible ( _was it audible because he was a werewolf now or just audible?_ ) growling of his stomach, he'd ransacked the fridge and shoved a plastic dish of what looked like stuffed chicken breast into the microwave while he continued to wander. He found Peter's phone and laptop fairly easily. They were right out in the open in a small book-filled office. He ran his fingers over the laptop but regretfully left it alone; Peter had smugly let everyone know months ago it was password protected and he'd encrypted all the files.

He snatched the iPhone -- his next phone was going to be a goddamn Android, just on principle -- out of its charger and made his way back to the bedroom. A second look still found no underwear, so Stiles snagged a pair of jeans and the first shirt his grabbed out of the closet. Once he was dressed and hearing the microwave beep, he dialed Scott while heading back to the kitchen.

"Hello?" Scott's voice was tentative.

"Hi, it's --" His throat closed up and his mouth shut against his will before he could finish the sentence.

"Who is this?" Now Scott sounded a little less tentative and a lot more wary. If Stiles wasn't so pissed off at the situation, he'd be proud of his friend's caution.

"It's -- St --" Again, when he tried to say his name, Stiles was cut off.

“Who is this?" This time it was a full-on growl and Stiles gave up. Whatever had made him wake up in Peter Hale's body obviously wasn't going to let him tell anyone he was in Peter Hale's body either.

"Fuck," he muttered and just ended the call. Stiles took his food, rummaged around the drawers until he found a fork, and went to sit despondently on the couch. Which was still comfortable and awesome-smelling. And the food was good too.

He sat there mechanically eating until he jumped at the sound of the phone ringing. Checking the ID, he realized it was his own phone number. “Hello?” he asked, shoving chicken to the side of his mouth.

“Stiles.”

And the day got weirder because that was _his voice_ coming out of the phone. His voice and it sounded weird, different than he almost heard it himself. A little lower, maybe, and full of tension. He swallowed hard because logic dictated that if Stiles was in Peter’s body, then someone else might have woken up in his own. “Peter,” he said, only three-fourths guessing. “What did you do to us?”

“Me?” Peter’s voice – _his voice_ – was offended. “I didn’t do this. Do you really thing I’d want to be _human_?” It sounded like he found the human condition disgusting.

“Well, I didn’t do this either. I definitely didn’t want to wake up naked in your bed.”

There was a pause before Peter’s response to that came through the phone. “At least not in this situation,” he said and it was… it came out like a _purr_ , like he was turned on, and jesus, Stiles didn’t know he could – his voice – he never realized he could do that. Worse, he felt his dick – _Peter’s dick damnit_ – start to rise at the sly tone of voice. “There are better ways to make that happen.

He shut his eyes and almost ended the call. “I –“ His voice cracked and that, more than anything, made him feel better. That even Peter could sound confused and scared. “I tried to call Scott. Whatever did this to us wouldn’t let me tell him I’m me.”

Peter made a sound over the phone and then sighed. “Then I suppose until we figure out what is happening we simply pretend to be each other.”

“Have fun with high school,” he mocked and smiled.

“I actually did, the first time. I suspect I could find… amusements this time around.” There was that tone of voice again and it made his heart clench and stomach swirl with a rush of arousal.

“Let’s make a pact,” Stiles said quickly. “I don’t screw up your life, you don’t screw up mine.”

“But what if I’m giving you a gift?” Peter asked his tone amused and playful. “I could make things so much better for you, Stiles. Give you something wonderful to come back to while you’re discovering what it really means to be a werewolf. How good it could be for you.”

“Just – status quo,” he bit out, pressing his hand against his groin and willing himself, this body, not to get hard. It – like Peter – didn’t seem to be listening. “What do I need to know? Do you have a job?”

“I do.” There was rustling over the line and a soft little exhale Stiles didn’t think he’d be able to hear if he wasn’t in a werewolf’s body. “But I can take care of that even in this body, Stiles.” Another soft little exhale and he tried not to think about all the things Peter might be doing to him. To his body.

“Yeah, you’re going to call in for as long as this takes?” He snorted and stretched out on the couch.

“No. I’m an editor for the Journal of the American Medical Association. I can do,” he paused with a little moan and Stiles shut his eyes, trying to wipe his mind of the way he felt when he jerked off in the mornings. “My work anywhere.”

“You’re an asshole,” he muttered.

“I’m simply doing what – _ahhhh_ ,” Stiles gave up on not being turned on by this and popped the button on his jeans, taking his – Peter’s – cock in hand to squeeze. “You told me. Living as if I were you.”

“You’re still an asshole.” Stiles bit his lip, annoyed at the weak response, and just held on, letting the phone drop onto the couch next to his ear, as he listened to Peter’s moans and grunts as he worked his way to a climax.

“The password,” Peter said softly, panting, as he was coming down and Stiles was still lying there on the couch, smelling himself and the feeling the heat of what Peter was doing, dick in hand. “It’s your name, your real name.”

Stiles listened to him breathe on the other end of the line, hearing the way it evened out, slowly and surely into something more normal, the way Stiles was used to feeling. He squeezed the dick in his hand, not for pleasure but for _pain_. He gasped at the rolling ache and let go, digging his hands – _claws again_ – into the couch cushions so he wouldn’t touch himself. “You’re an asshole,” Stiles said for the third time. “And I’m cutting off your evil mirror universe beard.”

Peter laughed at that. It was a clear an uncomplicated sound and so fucking _weird_. “If that makes you feel better. I always enjoyed the parallel universe episodes.” Stiles’s breath caught at Peter’s words and the fact he got the reference wasn’t really helping the hard on thing any. “I was in middle school when Next Generation began airing.” His voice turned dark and… that had to be what Stiles sounded like when he talked about his mom. “I had a life before it was burned, Stiles. All I’m doing is trying to build myself a new one.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he allowed because it didn’t sound like Peter was lying. Because it would be what Stiles would want too, after his revenge was finished. “But I don’t think you’re planning on doing it the old fashioned way.”

Peter laughed quietly. “Are you volunteering, Stiles?”

He shut his eyes and listened to the sound of the fabric in the cushions rip. “What’s your anchor, Peter? Do you think I’ll have to use it, being in your body? Or am I going to have to find my own?”

“You find something that makes you feel human,” Peter said and Stiles listened to the sounds on the phone, trying to identify them. “There isn’t much that makes me feel human anymore. I usually stick with…” He trailed off.

“With what?” Stiles snapped.

“ _Satisfaction_ ,” Peter answered and Stiles swallowed at the _everything_ in Peter’s – his – voice. “Now!” The voice was light, maybe even tender. “I should be getting ready for school. Tell me your schedule.” He rattled off his list of classes without even thinking about it, still dazed and trying to catch up with Peter’s change of mood. “Good,” Peter told him when he’d finished. “That should be no problem.”

“Physics is with Mr. Harris,” he pointed out. “Even if you hadn’t tried to kill him, he hates me. Are you sure you’re going to be able to handle it?” He relaxed into the cushions, concentrating on the sense of smell, the pleasing smell of mint and the acrid taste in the back of his throat of the ash. He let that ground him and realized that the emotional whiplash Peter was giving him at least helped with one thing: the hard on was slowly fading.

“He was, after all, a patsy,” Peter mused. “Responsible but perhaps no more responsible than Derek. I haven’t killed my nephew for his stupidity with Kate Argent yet so I believe I can handle facing the man who gave Kate the formula for the fuel.”

And that killed the rest of the hard on. Peter answered a question he’d been wanting to ask about for a while: how much Peter knew about Derek’s part in the fire.

“Are you going to?”

“Hmm?” He listened to Peter made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and could almost picture the expression that went on the face that matched that noise. The expression Stiles would make. “Where did you leave all of your books?”

“Scott has some of them. He said he’d grab them from my locker last night.” He paused. “Are you going to kill Derek?”

“Would you believe anything I told you?”

He gave that the consideration it deserved. “Yes. You’ve always been up front about your vendettas, with the spirals and stuff. And it’s obvious you’ll kill family.”

“Well,” he drew the word out and chuckled. “You know me so well, Stiles. Don’t worry. Enjoy my body while you have it; it’s a good one, if not nearly as young and fresh as yours.”

“Asshole.”

“I’m starting to think that’s a term of endearment,” Peter said and then hung up on him.

He pushed himself off the couch and went to grab Peter’s laptop. Hopefully there was something in there. Just in case, he texted his own phone: _Bring my laptop to your place after school. We can compare notes._

Then he made himself comfortable in Peter’s body and Peter’s apartment as he slid open Peter’s laptop. He chewed on his lips as he typed in the password Peter had given him: his name. He was going to have to ask Peter how he knew when the other man got home. Stiles opened two Word documents. One for references to anything like this and one for a list of everything he’d done and everyone he’d met yesterday. Nothing really out of the ordinary except for the broken leg and trip to the hospital. And not much available in Peter’s files that he could find, except for a few references to Ifrit.

After his total wipeout with fact-finding, Stiles decided not to take Peter’s advice and spent the rest of the day lounging around the apartment on the couch and munching on Peter’s food. He felt a little like Goldilocks. He wondered a little about what it said about him that Stiles could be so easily comfortable in a psycho undead killer werewolf’s apartment.

It was with that thought on his mind he fell asleep sometime after lunch. Stiles blamed the dreams of Peter and Derek and Scott all dressed up in fuzzy bear costumes grumpily staring at Stiles while he ate the best mac’n’cheese he’d ever had on his own stupid Goldilocks comparison.

He jolted awake to the feeling of a hand on his shoulder and the body reacted before Stiles could think about it, claws whipping toward a face he recognized as his own. “Peter,” he muttered, taking a few deep breaths and trying not think about how he’d almost put his own eye out.

The grin on Peter’s borrowed face, _his face_ , seemed more sly than goofy. “I see you’re enjoying yourself, Stiles.”

“How did you get in?”

“I keep a spare key hidden for emergencies.” The smile grew as Stiles sat up. “Or for guests.”

He glared at Peter and slouched into the couch, scooting to the side as Peter sat down next to him. “How was school?”

“Nostalgic.” Peter stretched out and raised his arms behind his head. “As… limiting as I find being human, I could get used to having a second chance. This body definitely has its perks.”

He clenched his fists at the thought of being stuck this way, of Peter taking over his life, living with his _dad_ , Stiles being stuck here. In the body of a killer who had nobody. “Gimme my phone.” He snapped his fingers to make Peter hurry up. When the other man didn’t move, Stiles dug his hands into the pockets of the jeans Peter was wearing. It made him laugh wildly, like he was pleased Stiles was touching him. The laughter continued even after Stiles pulled away. “Did you get my laptop?” He leaned over Peter, spotting his backpack on the ground. Not waiting for an answer, Stiles rummaged to find his laptop, notebooks, physics text, and the copy of Grapes of Wrath he was supposed to be reading for American Lit. And three sheets of paper… with phone numbers? “Oh my god _.”_

Peter’s laughter trailed off and he reached over to pluck the ripped lined sheets out of his hand. “You’ll thank me for these later, Stiles.”

He rolled his eyes and tapped a text off to his dad letting him know Stiles was staying at the McCall’s for the night. “We’ve got to fix this quickly.”

Peter leaned toward his laptop and pulled it into his lap, tsking. “You should have plugged it in.”

“I wasn’t exactly planning on falling asleep.” He glared at Peter and snatched his own laptop out of his bag, booting it up and looking for the copy of the bestiary he’d made. “I didn’t find much. You should detail what you did yesterday on the second document. We can compare notes, see if there’s a pattern or people in common.”

His phone buzzed and he frowned a little at the text he got from his dad: _Sure_. He hadn’t expected it to be that easy, not with a broken leg. He eyed the cast on Peter’s leg a little. “Did you have trouble?” Peter pointed to the collection of phone numbers and started typing away on his laptop. “That’s a no.” He sighed. “It was sort of nice to wake up and not have to worry about wrapping my leg in a garbage bag to shower.”

“Werewolf healing,” Peter said and looked over at him, his fingers still resting on the keyboard. “Why don’t you want it?”

Stiles scoffed. “Well, at the time, the person offering me was a psycho who’d tried to kill me multiple times, tried to get Scott to kill me multiple times, and savaged the girl I loved. I wasn’t kidding when I said I didn’t want to be like you.” He shook his head. “Too much attention.”

Peter laughed and reached out to run his fingers along Stiles’s neck. They were chilly, probably from the October air outside. He wanted to flinch away but… _He_ was the werewolf in this situation. He had the power this time around. Peter – in Stiles’s body – couldn’t hurt him. “Being a werewolf brings too much attention or my actions were sloppy and brought too much attention?"

“Both. Either.” He reached up and grabbed Peter’s wrist where he was still lightly stroking up and down along his jugular. “Does it matter?” He squeezed, trying to put enough force into it that it hurt but not enough to bruise. It’d suck to end up back in his body only to have it fucked up even more. When Peter hissed, he let go of the wrist and smirked. But Peter didn’t move his fingers from Stiles’s throat. Instead, he gripped at the base, wrapping his fingers over the Adam’s apple and from collarbone to collarbone.

Peter scratched his index finger along the line of jugular, digging the stubby fingernail in. Something in his stomach stirred at the sensation and he inhaled sharply because being choked had never seemed like a thing Stiles would be into. “It matters to me.” His hand clenched and Stiles felt his mouth and throat dry in response, the sensation of his pulse in his throat, the beat of Peter’s heart in his ears, before Peter loosened his grip. “It matters.”

He swallowed and wet his lips. “Why?”

“Because I like you, Stiles,” Peter said and leaned forward. Stiles never realized how _brown_ his eyes were or maybe it was just the look that Peter was putting on his face, slick, and sly, and amused, and _interested_. His jeans were starting to feel tight again. “And I do think we could do so much together.”

“Yeah, murder and mayhem. That was totally on my list of things I wanted to do when I grew up. Right under policeman, astronaut, and president.”

“I was mostly thinking protect and avenge,” Peter told him and used his free hand to reach up and run his fingertips along Stiles’s cheek, over the facial hair. “You didn’t shave.”

“You did notice me sleeping, right?” He rolled his eyes upward. “Besides, it’ll help remind everyone you’re evil, in case they start forgetting.”

He looked down pointedly at the hands on his neck and face before meeting Peter’s eyes. Peter chuckled and pulled back without asking. “I did a little research myself,” he said, nodding toward Stiles’s laptop. Stiles stared at him suspiciously while listening to Peter discuss what he’d found in the bestiary about curses, fae, and tricksters, a little confused by how easily Peter had backed off.

“So,” he said when Peter finished, frowning thoughtfully. “We don’t have an exact match for anything that could switch our bodies; it’s probably an actual being rather than something else.” Stiles paused and perused Peter’s list of activities. “And it probably happened at the hospital since that’s the only place our paths crossed yesterday. Did I miss anything?”

“I don’t think so.” Peter eyed him for a moment before making his way up. “Did you leave me any food?”

Stiles gestured vaguely. “Where’d you get that chicken? It’s delicious.”

Peter smiled, looking genuinely pleased. “Cooking is a hobby of mine. I used to cook almost every night for my family before Laura and Derek were old enough to start learning to help.”

The easy way he mentioned the Hales caught Stiles off guard and stole his breath away. Stiles swallowed and stood up, needing to get out of the room for a minute. Get away from Peter. “Sit down. The last thing we need is you screwing up my body,” he muttered and headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll get you something.”

Peter nodded and dropped back down, stretching out on the couch and propping the broken leg up.

In the kitchen, it felt like he could breathe again and Stiles realized it _was because he could_. The air smelled different in the kitchen and he groaned, partially because he realized he’d lost control of Peter’s senses and partially because he had an inkling of what he’d smelled. “Werewolves are the worst.” He stuck his head in Peter’s fridge and pulled out a casserole that looked a couple of days old and still smelled delicious, even cold. He shoveled the casserole on a plate, grabbed another dish of leftover veggies, and stuck the whole thing in the microwave.

They had to get this fixed. And Stiles had to do something about Peter. He shut his eyes and sighed as his brain immediately rearranged that thought to “do Peter.” Which was so not happening.

He snatched the food out of the microwave and made his way back to the living room. “How’s the leg?”

“Aches a little,” Peter told him, hands out to take the plate. “I don’t know how you humans do it.”

“If you think it’s so horrible, why’d you keep the scars for so long?”

Peter gave him a flat look and Stiles wondered if that was the expression he got on his face when Scott talked about Allison. As in, “now I can go on my date with Allison.” “Don’t be obtuse, Stiles. You’re better than that.”

He scowled back and felt a little bit of fang touch his teeth. Which was weird. Deciding to ignore Peter, he sat down on the floor and pulled both laptops toward him. “You eat and then we’ll go to the hospital. There have to be answers there.”

Peter hummed quietly and Stiles focused on the sound of the fork scraping the plate as he ate and pulled up his email. To his surprise, there was an email from Danny, asking about scheduling a time for the English project they were apparently now partnered. He froze, fingers on the keyboard, when he realized Peter’s fingers were lightly and slowly sliding through the hair on the back of his head even while he ate. It was the kind of graceful action Stiles had always been a little too energetic to pull off, like patting his head and rubbing his stomach at the same time. “Would it be so bad?” Peter asked his voice even like he was talking about the weather. His fingernails – _Stiles’s fingernails_ – scraped along the back of his neck and gave him goose bumps at the sensation.

“Would what?”

“Being like us.”

“A werewolf?” Stiles realized he’d actually leaned back into the hand, the fingers, and this time couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

“Among other things. You’d be connected to us, to Scott despite his reluctance to join, forever. You’d have security, safety, and people who always are there for you.” Peter’s voice dropped, his tone turning almost _wondering_. “Your family would grow, Stiles. Would could be wrong about that?” Peter’s fingers stilled, tightening in the hair right at the nape of his neck pulling Stiles’s head back until it was tilted against the edge of the couch but not enough he could see Peter clearly above him. It felt strange, after so many years of buzzing his hair (better to keep gum out of it and then just turning into a habit) to have hair to pull, but not bad. He actually sort of liked it. Or maybe, like the throat thing, Peter’s body liked. Either way it felt good.

Stiles could deny that Peter’s words were getting to him. He remembered how wonderful it felt when he was younger, spoiled by the love of his mother, his father, and Scott. He’d felt complete in a way Stiles hadn’t felt since his mother died. He couldn’t – wouldn’t – deny he wanted to feel that way again. “Why? Why do you want this?”

Peter’s fingers tightened and tugged, his grip almost painful. “Because everything that was burned out of me, everything that made me what I am now –“

“A sociopath?” he asked sarcastically.

Peter kept talking, ignoring Stiles words except for another hard tug on his hair in warning. “I gave that all up, I lost that, I lost everything, Stiles, for my family. I recognize something of the same in you.” He laughed and let go. “You’re the boy who trapped me in a room, pressed your nose to the glass, stared me down and told me ‘I am not afraid of you.’ All to protect Scott and your other friends. You would do anything for the people you care about and I very demonstratively am not good at being alone.”

Stiles turned his head completely, shifting his body so he could stare at Peter. At himself. Who was staring back, his eyes almost glowing in the afternoon light. Or maybe just glowing with the force of Peter’s beliefs.

“It turned you into a sociopath. Loving like that broke my dad. It’d break me, or worse,” he said finally. “I don’t know what it’d do if I were a werewolf.”

Peter was quiet as he studied him. “It’s worth it,” he said softly. “It’s always worth it.”

“You really think that? Even now?” He didn’t bother to hide the disbelief in his voice and Stiles was pretty sure he was giving Peter his own snarky “bitch please” face.

“Even now.” He laughed and rolled onto his side, dropping the now-empty plate onto the floor next to Stiles. “The only reason Jackson survived is due to the power of love. Did you know I was the one who told Derek how to save him?”

Stiles raised his eyebrows at that. “That still doesn’t tell me if you’re telling –“

“I am. You’re in my body, Stiles. Use the senses; you’ll be able to tell if I’m lying.”

Stiles sighed and cocked his head to the side, concentrating on smell and hearing. The heartbeat would be strange and Peter had told him deception had a certain smell. Not that _Stiles_ was trained enough in what everything meant but he was perfectly happy to use the tools at hand. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been as jealous of werewolf senses as much as werewolf healing before. “Say it again.”

“The years I had a family were more than worth the loss. There’s a reason I had a vendetta; they were worth it, Stiles. _It’s always going to be worth it_.” No change in heart beat that Stiles could tell and no real change in smell… except. There was something spicy, almost like curry, rising in the air. It was different than the sweet smell of earlier, before Stiles had gone to the kitchen, the smell he was pretty sure was actually arousal or hormones.

“Your heart beat didn’t change,” he said, studying Peter’s face. It was strangely elastic, his lips parted and mouth open, eyes wide. “But the way you smell, or the room smells, whatever, did.”

“Did it?” Peter’s slow half-smile, where he lifted his lips more to the right, made an appearance. “And what do you think it means?”

“Satisfaction,” he blurted out before he thought about it and as soon as he said it he was fairly sure he was right. Peter had said his anchor was satisfaction and, at the time, Stiles had mostly been thinking about pornographic satisfaction but –

It was satisfied vengeance. Peter had achieved what he meant to do: first by killing the people who killed his family, by starting a new pack, by coming back to life with his plan B; maybe even satisfaction at having a plan, watching the plan unfold. And this scared him a little but maybe even satisfaction at being with Stiles.

“And you wonder why I’m interested in you when you can read me so well.” Peter poked him in the forehead, still smiling that half-smile.

He pushed himself to his feet. “Are you done eating? We can go now. I want to get this fixed.”

“You don’t want to push this body too much, do you?” Peter dropped down so he was lying on his side. “I’m tired, Stiles. We can go tomorrow; it’s the weekend.”

…and that was a really good point. This sucked because he didn’t want to actually give in to Peter on anything no matter how good Peter made it sound. It’d feel like making a deal with the devil. “Fine, we’ll go tomorrow,” he agreed. “I don’t want my body back worse than I left it.” He hesitated and clenched his jaw. “If you’re tired, go sleep in bed. It’s probably better for your leg.”

“Help me up?” Peter gave him an unassuming look and held up an arm. Stiles sighed and grabbed his wrist, jerking him up, surprised by how easy the action was. It was stupid because he _knew_ but it felt so effortless to take the weight. “You’re adjusting well.” He leaned on Stiles, wrapping an arm around his neck, apparently deciding it was more fun to use Stiles as a crutch than to use the actual crutches.

“Asshole. I really should shave the beard.” But he made his way toward the bedroom, Peter clinging to him like a barnacle. What he didn’t expect was for Peter to keep his grip when he dropped onto the bed, pulling Stiles with him.

“Shave whatever parts of me you like,” Peter said, still smiling. Stiles wanted to smash it off his face so rather than doing something he might regret, Stiles took a deep breath and pried Peter’s arms off his neck.

“You asked for it,” he muttered, climbing out of the bed. “I’m not ever going to say yes. Especially when we’re trapped like this so stop trying.”

“I don’t need to be in my body to tell you’re lying, Stiles. You’ll say yes. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or next year. Maybe not to being a werewolf. But you’ll say yes to me.”  

He tossed his arms up in the air. “No, I won’t! Not when I don’t even know what you want from me!” he shouted and then turned on his heels and stalked out of the bedroom.

He retreated back to the living room and dropped down onto the couch, cupping his face in his hands. This was way too much time with Peter to be healthy for anyone. He scowled and decided to get out of the apartment. If Peter didn’t want to investigate, Stiles could do it on his own.

The apartment was too far from the hospital and –

_How had Peter gotten to the apartment?_ He couldn’t drive with a broken leg so someone must have dropped him off here. Stiles chewed on his lip and glanced back at the bedroom. He could fix whatever Peter had fucked up in his life later, when he was actually back in his body where he was supposed to be. Worry about being in Peter’s body first, then worry about whatever screwy things Peter had done as him.

Which meant walking to the hospital. Or driving, if he could find car keys.

A brief search of the apartment found none outside of the bedroom and he wasn’t about to go back. _Whatever,_ he thought. _A walk will get rid of some of this aggression. No need to wolf out on a nurse or something_.

He slipped out as quietly as possible, trying not to alert Peter to what he was doing, and headed for the hospital. The only place Peter and Stiles had actually been together was outside of the billing area, while Stiles had been waiting for his dad, so he decided to start there. Maybe something with his new wolf senses would tell him what happened. If he could figure out what the stuff his senses could tell him meant and how to control the senses so they didn’t become too overwhelming or something. He still remembered when he’d seen Deaton use a dog whistle on Derek while the guy had been in the middle of a rage about a fuck-up with the alphas early on that had landed both Isaac and Scott on the injured list for a day as they healed.

As he wandered slowly through the hospital entrance toward the billing window and waiting area he almost immediately bumped into the nurse from the day before. “Oh, sorry about that. I wasn’t paying attention,” he said, grabbing her arm to help her regain her balance. “Jeannie, right?”

She frowned at him and he tried to make himself look even more contrite but he had a feeling that on Peter’s face it just looked false and smarmy. Peter had that kind of face. “You’re not enjoying it,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Your partner is enjoying it but you aren’t.”

Then the clue hit like a baseball bat to the face. This woman was the one responsible for waking up Peter. “Well, of course I’m not!” He gestured wildly. “I woke up another person and I didn’t know why! This is _crazy_!”

“You wished for it,” Jeannie said and before Stiles could utter a denial, “And so did he.” She smiled at him easily. “But that’s the thing about wishes, isn’t it, Stiles.”

He swallowed, quieted by her words about Peter, and thought of fairy tales and legends and all the mythology he’d mainlined immediately after Scott had been turned. “People don’t get the wishes they want or they turn out wrong,” he said. “But I never –“

“You wished for werewolf healing,” Jeannie cut him off.

“ _Oh my god_!” He rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t a _wish_ , not like that! It’s an _expression_. I didn’t mean I wanted to be a werewolf, I just meant I didn’t want to spend six weeks in a cast with a broken leg!” He ran a hand through his hair. “How do I fix it?”

Her scowl at the question was spiteful. “You have to help someone else get their true wish. In your case, your partner’s true wish.”

“I have to help _Peter_?” He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “I think God hates me,” he muttered and looked back at Jeannie. “So, I have to help Peter get what he really wants. _Great._ ” He reached in and let his anger at the situation flow, hoping it might make him wolf out a little. “I’m thinking you should probably stick around long enough to make sure Peter and I are fixed and then get out of town, Jeannie. Because I know with a power like that, you’re not human and things that aren’t human don’t tend to have a good time in Beacon Hills.”

She sniffed at him and stepped away. “I’m not worried. You won’t give your partner what his true wish is.”

When he reached out to grab her and force Jeannie to explain that comment and what Peter’s “true” wish was whatever that meant, she disappeared. He growled and jumped when he realized he actually sounded like a wolf, something he’d never really heard either Derek or Peter or even Scott do.

Stiles shut his eyes and did some deep breathing until he felt calmer and his heart beat was no longer pounding in his ears. When he felt more in control, he stuck his hands in his jeans pockets and wished he’d grabbed Peter’s wallet. He could have made a detour to get some greasy, unhealthy, disgusting food before heading back to Peter’s apartment.

As he walked, he thought about Jeannie’s words: true wish. For Stiles, his true wish had been about not being hurt and Jeannie had done that by giving him exactly what he’d asked for: he’d been put in a werewolf’s body. So what might Peter want? Why would Jeannie stick him in Stiles’s body?

A chill went through him as he actually let himself think about it rather than ignoring Peter’s actions over the last few months. He was going to miss his willful ignorance but apparently this was a problem he’d have to actually face unless he wanted to live the rest of his life as Peter Hale.

Peter followed him when he could get away with (Stiles had spent the last month just praying Peter tried to follow him to school so he could call the cops; maybe ending up on a sex offender registry would teach him). Peter talked to him, actually explained things when he asked questions in a way Derek tended to ignore. Peter really liked to touch him even though Stiles did everything to avoid it. Or he had anyway. He realized he’d started to actually get used to Peter’s touches. This body certainly liked them, anyway.

He had to face the truth: Peter probably had been completely honest when he said he didn’t like to be alone. Stiles assumed that was Peter’s wish; he wanted Stiles and Jeannie had decided the two wishes worked well together so Peter _became_ Stiles.

“I hate logic,” he mumbled and kicked a piece of the sidewalk that had been broken and pried off apart through use. At least – if he was right – it explained why Jeannie had said he’d never do it. Because it meant giving Peter something, though he wasn’t sure what might satisfy Peter and end the spell or whatever it was that had him trapped in a body that wasn’t his.

He made his way back to the apartment and let himself back in. The door wasn’t locked and the crutches hadn’t moved from where Peter had left them leaning against the couch so Stiles figured Peter hadn’t moved either.

Wishing he was back in his own body and could actually get drunk, Stiles made his way back to the bedroom – and Peter. He swallowed heavily and pushed the partially closed door open, stepping inside.

Peter was sprawled out on the bed, his mouth open as he slept. The t-shirt he’d been wearing had ridden up and showed the dark hair around his navel. He had one arm spread out next to him and the other thrown above his head. Remembering how he’d woken up this morning, all contained and still, this had to be another instance of the body remembering even if the mind occupying it wasn’t the same. Like the reaction he’d had to Peter’s fingers around his neck. And he hoped the reaction he was having to seeing Peter – in Stiles’s body – stretched out and _inviting_ as he slept, quiet little snores trailing out of his mouth. Because it was weird to want to reach out and _touch_ and _rumple_ the body that was laid out like a present in front of him because it was _his own body_.

He cleared his throat loudly. “Peter. Wake up.”

Peter didn’t jerk awake the way Stiles had hoped he would but instead groaned and slowly opened his eyes. “You’re back.”

“Yeah.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers across the comforter. No wonder Peter picked things like silk sheets because even a werewolf’s sense of touch seemed to be heightened. God, what _pain_ must feel like. “I found out some things about what happened and how to fix it.”

That made Peter come more alive and alert as he sat up. “How did you?”

“I may have run into the person who did this to us.” He chuckled in spite of himself because he had literally ran into Jeannie. “I don’t know exactly what she is but she seems to be some sort of being that grants wishes. Only she grants them wrong. Apparently we were both wishing things yesterday and the wishes we made were… compatible. I got werewolf healing,” he said, gesturing down to Peter’s body. “And you got to be me.” He looked up and finally met Peter’s eyes, a little weirded out by how intent they were. “I guess because you did something like wishing you had me.”

“I was,” Peter said instantly. “You’re loyal and fierce, as teenagers go you’re not bad, you’re fairly smart and I admire your ability to think outside of the box. You also said no.”

“Oh my god, is that what this is?” he groaned, glaring at the other man. “You’re pissed off because I refused to be your toy? You want something you can’t have? _Jesus_ , Peter.”

Peter’s hand reached out and grabbed Stiles’s shirt, pulling him close. “Don’t worry,” he said, leaning forward. “I won’t throw you away when I’m done with you.”

Then Peter kissed him and it was like all his senses exploded. The smell of mint and ash and the smell of curry, the taste of the casserole’s ingredients (celery, tuna, onion, macaroni, three different kinds of cheese), the look shining through Peter’s ( _his, damnit, his_ ) eyes as they kissed, the sounds of quiet sucking as Peter took his bottom lip in between his teeth, the pain of the bite echoing through him and tempered by the pressure of lips that knew what they were doing and we doing it to achieve maximum possible effect.

Stiles jerked back and stared, resisting the urge to wipe his mouth on his arm. “Like I said,” Peter told him, slowly and obviously running his eyes up and down Stiles’s body. “Not bad as teenagers go.”

“I don’t – I –“ He didn’t know how to finish that sentence so Stiles just sat there staring, half-hard, and panting, and feeling _everything._

“You do,” Peter told him smoothly, crawling as best as he could with the leg cast across the bed after Stiles. “You can hear yourself lying now, Stiles. You do.”

Peter didn’t touch him. He stopped just inches away, both of their bodies tilted toward each other, and Stiles breathed around the fangs in his mouth.

_Satisfaction_ , he thought, and then, _fuck it_ , and leaned forward to bite. 


End file.
